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  • Writer's pictureCloud Ink


Updated: Mar 10, 2023

His hometown has its own sort of cold

Tendrils of her hair beneath his cheek, like red silk,

asleep as he goes

Pale grasses and snow

glow on the edges of a blurred road

The horizon cinches in on

craggy rocks and hills

A sky that’s empty

A lone hawk hunts nearby

Another rests on an abandoned fencepost

Eyes open


Layers of frost

coat hay bails

chipped letterboxes won’t keep mail dry

She’ll know now

that he’s gone


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